Sammy's Day Out
by Beautiful-Crying-Angel
Summary: My first SN attempt. Just a one-shot about the brotherly love that never fails to make my heart melt. Little Sam and Dean go to the park, and have a non-paranormal day.


**Title: ****Sammy's Day Out**

**Disclaimer****: ****I wish I owned our beloved Winchesters, but I do not.**

**Summary:**** My first attempt at Supernatural fics. This is just a one-shot about the brotherly love that never fails to make my heart melt. Sam and Dean go to the park, and have a non-paranormal day. **

**Little Winchesters. =)**

**Dean aged 10. Sam aged 6.**

**Warnings:**** This is my **_**first **_**try with Supernatural, so just a word of caution =P Also there is ****one ****swear word near the end. You'll see what I mean.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

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"Dad, can we please go to the park?" Six-year-old Sam Winchester asked his father, looking up with pleading puppy-dog eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but it's just too dangerous for you to go," John replied, packing clothes and weapons into a duffel bag with quick ease. He had to leave, again, for a few days. The vampires he was tracking had caught wind of him, and had moved a couple towns over. He had to stop them, and that meant leaving behind his two precious children.

""Please Dad, I haven't been outside in _two _days!"

"No, Sam, and that's final. This conversation is over." With a heavy sigh the little boy turned on his heel, walked directly to the bathroom, and slamming the door with all his might behind him, he hid away from his father. John didn't even glance up.

"It's not fair," Sam mumbled, letting the hot tears run down his cheeks. It just wasn't fair. At that moment, Sam hated his dad. He hated him for being unfair. He hated him for hiding him away from the world, and for never letting him have any fun. But, deep down, Sam knew the real reason why he hated his father was because he was leaving them again. Sam couldn't understand. What could be so important that he'd go away? What could be more worthy of his time than Sam and Dean? No, he didn't understand at all.

Ten-year-old Dean lowered his videogame, watching his brother retreat into the bathroom. He glanced at his father, tall, dark and handsome, like a masked crusader. Sir John Winchester the Demon Slayer, brave and heroic, on the move once more.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dean decided to take a risk. "Listen, couldn't the kid go to the park? I'll go with him. I'd keep him safe, I promise."

The oldest Winchester stopped packing. "Dean," he spoke softly, "you know, you've seen, the _things_ lurking at the edge of the dark. The monsters most people can only begin to imagine in their worst nightmares. No, you just can't."

"Please, Dad," Dean tried again, pushing farther than he had ever dared. His father's word was law, you simply _did not_ argue. But he wanted to see his brother have some fun, right now, he honestly believed John was wrong. "Sam doesn't know. He hasn't seen. Please Dad," against his better judgment he was almost begging now, "Sam still has his innocence. He's still only a little kid. I want him enjoy himself, to see him have some fun."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on for eternity, until finally, John turned and laid his hand gently on his son's shoulder. Something in his dad's eyes made Dean stare. There was something there, glazing over the surface. He couldn't remember seeing this look, it was rare. Deep in his father's heart he was feeling…guilty.

"I never wanted this life for you boys."

"I know, Dad, I know."

"Oh Dean, when did you grow up?"

"I don't know…" And then John did something truly surprising. He wrapped his arms around Dean, and pulled him close to his chest, and _hugged_ him. An honest-to goodness, genuine, bona fide hug!

"Fine, you can take Sam to the park, but," John's voice became deadly serious, and he broke away from the young boy, "I want you take these with you." Opening a black trunk he pulled out a handgun, a small metal case, and a hunting knife. "We'll cover the basics. The gun's loaded with rock salt, the case contains silver bullets, and the knife is iron. Listen carefully, son. If a situation arises where you'll need to use these weapons, do not hesitate, Dean. I mean it. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir." John loaded the equipment into a harmless looking backpack, zipping it up in one swift movement, and handed his son a ten dollar bill.

"Take care of him," he said, looking lovingly at his boy, who was already becoming a man, before departing.

As the large black truck rumbled away from the motel, Dean grabbed his videogame, and slinging the pack over his shoulder, called cheerfully, "Hey, Sammy! Come out here!"

Wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, Sam took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door, peering out with weary eyes. There was no Dad, only a Dean with a very silly grin plastered on his face.

"What?"

"Come on kid, we're going to the park!" The smile that graced Sam's face lit up the entire room. And suddenly, Dean forgot about evil, and monsters, and things that went bump in the night. For one moment, all was right with the world. Everything was perfect. Sam and Dean were going to the park.

_**Sammy'sDayOut**_

"Why are we stopping here?" Sam asked curiously, pressing his hands against the convenience store's windows.

"Dad gave us ten dollars, and I think we should spend it."

A little bell chimed overhead as they entered the store. All sorts of items lined the shelves, and three large coolers graced the back wall next to a slushie machine, and a rack of movies.

"Buy whatever you want, Sammy," Dean declared joyously, satisfied with the smile, and happy aura that radiated from the kid. _Sam deserves to have one normal day, _Dean thought, _even if it doesn't last long._

Sam walked slowly up and down the few aisles, inspecting each and every item with a fine eye. That was when he saw _it._ It was the most spectacular thing his young eyes had ever been privileged enough to see. There on the top shelf was a red ball shining new and wonderful, begging to be played with.

Standing on the very tip of his tiptoes Sam reached his arms out as far as he could. Closer and closer until, YES!, his small fingers grasped hold, and he lifted his trophy over his head in victory.

Waltzing up to the counter, where Dean stood holding a bottle of Cola, Sam carried his treasure before him like he had just won the Stanley Cup.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Dean asked, watching as the red sphere was plopped onto the wood.

"Yes."

"You're positive you don't want candy, or a drink, or something instead?"

"Just the ball."

"Okay," Dean sighed, directing his attention to the middle-aged woman waiting to ring up their purchase. Her graying blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her gentle blue eyes were set into a tired face. He decided she seemed safe enough.

"Did you get everything you wanted, sweetie?" her southern accent melodic and pleasant.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, that will be $11.75." Sam's face fell, and his bright eyes clouded over with disappointment. It broke Dean's heart. They didn't have enough.

"Don't worry, bro," Dean reassured in an upbeat tone, "I'll put my pop back, and we'll be able to get your ball. No worries." He picked up the bottle and was turning around, when a delicate touch on his arm made him pause.

"How much are you short, dear?" the woman asked, removing her hand.

"We only have a ten."

Sticking her hand into the pocket of her jeans, the cashier extracted a few coins, and dropped them into the cash register with gentle clinks. It was the most beautiful sound Sam had ever heard. "There we go, all covered."

"Thank-you, ma'am," Dean managed to say, handing her the bill. He stared at her for a second, shocked. Dean couldn't remember a stranger ever being so _nice _to him before. After all the bad he'd seen, could people actually be good? Was it possible? Did kindness and goodness truly exist? "Thank-you."

"Oh yes, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!" Sam cheered excitedly, rewarding her with a toothy grin.

"Have fun, sugar," she smiled back.

Dean was still slightly shocked as they arrived at the park, and he opened his cola, pressing the bottle to his lips. Even as he drank, he half expected it to disappear before his eyes. A free pop, and he didn't even have to lie, cheat, or steal to get it. Hmm….

"C'mon Dean! Let's try the swings!" Racing over to the towering metal frame, Sam scrambled onto a seat, and wrapped his arms around the chains while holding the ball in his lap. After an initial push from Dean, Sam started to crazily pump his legs, soaring higher and higher. He laughed breathlessly as the air rushed past him. _This is how the birds must feel, _he thought. _I wish I had wings, and I could fly._

Dean dropped down into the swing next to the boy, and for awhile he merely watched his brother gliding weightlessly in space. Sam looked so happy, so _free._ A sudden pang of sorrow pierced sharply through him. Oh, how he wished Sam would never have to know about monsters. Never have to be afraid. He wished he could shelter Sam forever, and ensure he lived a normal life. He wished Sam could come to the park anytime he wanted, and play on the swing.

"Can I go play with my ball?" Sam's voice asked, breaking Dean from his thoughts. The younger boy had stopped, and was staring hopefully at him.

"Okay, but stay close, where I can see you," he warned, powering up his game.

Sam found the absolutely perfect spot in the centre of the field, in Dean's line of vision, where he began to playfully throw his ball in the air and catch it. It's beautiful red roundness like a gem falling from Heaven. He was having a grand old time.

That was, until he threw the ball a little too high, and it landed at the feet of three boys standing before him.

The oldest, and certainly the plumpest, of the boys picked it up. Examining its glistening brilliance, he looked unkindly at the little boy.

"Can I have my ball back, please?" Sam asked quietly. He could tell what these boys were by simply glancing at them. The looming forms, the nasty smirks…these boys were bullies. Big, stinky, mean bullies. It was practically tattooed on their foreheads.

"You know, I don't think you can," the big boy (who was probably twelve) sneered. He twirled Sam's lovely ball in his sweaty hands, leaving smudges on the spotless plastic. Sam grimaced.

"I want my ball back, _please_. My brother got it for me."

"Oh, your brother. Why that's a horse of a different color. What do you say boys?" Sam watched helplessly as the ball was thrown over his head, just out of his reach, to a boy with a beak nose.

"Gee, I don't know. What do you think, Jude?" For a second time the ball was hurled over his head, landing in the hands of a tall boy with _really _long hair.

"I think his brother must be pretty stupid. What do you think, Barney?" Again the ball sailed through the air, making Sam feel small and insignificant, into the sweaty, sticky hands of the big boy.

"Ya know, Jude. I agree with you. Besides, little babies don't deserve beautiful red balls like this one 'ere."

"I am NOT a baby!" Sam declared, stamping his foot on the ground. "And my brother is NOT stupid. He's smarter than you dummies. Give me back my ball!"

"I don't much like being called a dummy. Maybe I'll just keep it."

"I believe the kid told you to do something," Dean's strong voice said, as he came to a stand beside his brother, putting a hand on the smaller boy protectively. "Now, like I said, give him the ball."

"No."

"I'm warning you, butthole, give my brother the ball."

Sizing up the newcomer, Barney took a step forward and answered, "And like I said, pea brain, 'no!'" That was his last mistake.

"You asked for it," Dean reminded him. "I _did _warn you."

"Whatever, you stupid sissy, you ain't-" His sentence was cut off as he staggered backward, Dean's fist connecting solidly with the bully's face.

"Eat that, chubby," Dead said, cracking his knuckles. "Anybody else want some?"

Jude and bird beak glanced at each other, and at the same instant they were off running, in the opposite direction. Barney pulled himself into a sitting position, and ran a finger under his nose.

"Ya made my nose bleed!" he whined, pathetically from the ground.

"You're lucky that was all I did," Dean told him, grabbing Sam's ball. "Let's go, Sammy." And so they left carrying themselves victorious, champions to all who see them. Leaving behind the big meanie, who had started to bawl.

"What a baby," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

As they continued to walk back to the motel Sam stopped, and looked up with admiration at _his_ big brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"No problem, kiddo," he replied, throwing his arm across his brother's shoulders. "Ya know, I'd never let anything happen to you?"

"Never ever?"

"Never ever. I mean, who else would I bug all the time?"

"You pinky swear?" Sam asked, holding out his little finger expectedly.

"Yeah, I pinky swear."

Looking up again at his big brother, his hero, brave, strong, and magnificent, he knew the words were true. Dean would always protect him, _always._ As long as Dean was around he was safe. An extreme feeling of adoration and love flowed over Sam, filling up every part of his body.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Sammy. Even when you are a little bitch," he added, ruffling the brunette's hair mischievously.

Sam stuck out his tongue, and earned a sincere, heartfelt laugh when he replied, "Jerk."

**END**

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**I don't know if it's what I had hoped for, but there it is.**

**If you read, please review.**

**Thanks,**

**BCA**


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